


How To Make A God

by Miellat_II



Series: Tutorials [3]
Category: Original Sci-Fi, Original Work
Genre: Breeding, Brooding, Clit Inflation, Colony Ships, Edging, Gods, Hyperpregnancy, Lactation Kink, Male Lactation, Mother/Child Incest, Orgasm Denial, Other, Oviposition, Pagan Gods, Religious Themes, Sci-Fi, Sort Of, Transformation, birthing machine, clit and vaginal torture (CVT), deification, genital inflation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 04:55:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17739413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miellat_II/pseuds/Miellat_II
Summary: Is there any way youcanmake a god that isn't a despot?





	How To Make A God

**Author's Note:**

> My first Sci-Fi piece! I want to dedicate this piece to Rod Serling, who is still the best Sci-Fi writer I know, and taught me everything I know about how to write it. This piece, I'm pleased to say, fits his definition of what a Twilight Zone story must do: pose a question about the human condition, and then answer it by the end.

The ship was going to take years to get to the colony, and he’d gone through testing like all the colony applicants, selected to be the only one physically on this ship. He’d been given this privilege because he had heard the sacrifices demanded by the Collective and not recoiled in horror: his eggs and milk, all of them. And not simply removed, but fully fertilised and developed. The Collective guaranteed his health and safety would not be compromised, but that his body would be “occupied by their use” for the years the journey would take.

 

**_Day 001_ **

The first thing they had to do, once he got into the Pod he’d be spending the journey in, was dilate his cervix. He expected it to be cold, clinical, and completely, wilfully ignorant of arousal.

He did not expect his labia majora spread wide by the armature inside the Pod he’d been sealed into, and then, a vibrating sensation on his clitoris, touching until it found the spot that made him struggle uncontrollably, though it was futile, as being sealed in the Pod meant his arms and legs were encased and held utterly immobile. The only thing he could do with his torso was breathe, but the thick, soft feeding tube sliding into his mouth and down his throat prevented him from being able to make any noise. All he could do was breathe, as the Pod slid into his vaginal passage, stretching it outward, before something started circling his cervix.

The Pod put his nipples in suction tubes, and the vibrations to his clitoris were starting to make his clitoris go numb. He didn’t notice the tiny needle prick his clitoris, begin a slow drip of engorging drug and saline, slowly swelling the entire flower-like organ. The Pod slid its probe into his cervix soon after, and the readings measured no pain being registered. It chimed in success, and took a reading to measure the uterus lining. Finding the lining adequate, it began to pump in the carefully-preserved sperm, filling the uterus to an acceptable pressure.

He was being filled, and filled, and he knew what was happening, but it was something else to feel it happening, to know there was no turning back, to know what was to come. It stopped filling him, and he felt a catheter carefully threaded into him, the end inflated, the pressure in his bladder eased without the sound he’d grown accustomed to hearing alongside, and it was _strange_.

Stranger still was existing in the Pod, reclined and spread and vulnerable in the dark; but the Pod pumped nutrition into him, and his body eventually had to process it fully. He adapted. He had to, he didn’t have a choice.

 

**_Month 001_ **

He was still being milked, and his teats, eventually, began to feel tender, and tight, and the constant pulsing suction began to feel better, and better…. His nipples had grown under the constant suction, permanently doubled in size now, and sensitive. The Pod did all the work of taking care of his body for him, and he was fairly certain it was also keeping him sedated, because he never quite felt awake….

His clitoris had grown, tripling its mass, and the Pod removed the vibration, replacing it with a suction tube much longer than the ones on his nipples. It slowly turned up the pressure, until he was at a medium level of arousal, and monitored the swelling closely.

Eventually, his teats began producing milk, alongside his belly growing, every single one of his ova fertilised at once, the Pod making sure he was adequately sustaining all of the young inside his body, gradually stretching his vaginal passage farther and farther open, and eventually stretching his anus to its limit, sliding a tube inside and leaving him like that, the last vestige of his autonomy taken. The Pod did everything, and his belly grew, and was his entire world. The Pod kept his naked skin shorn smooth and oiled, and his teats swelled even bigger as the pregnancy wore on, gallons upon gallons of milk, the skin taut and blue veins spidering like maps of rivers beneath the surface.

 

**_Month 009_ **

His belly was heavier and larger than the rest of his body, taking up the most of the ship, the population of a city held within its pampered flesh. His teats were heavy, elongate, the milking tubes having made the nipples very large, indeed, permanently a few inches long; and they were producing extremely well, would easily sustain the constant demand put upon them. His stomach had grown in size from the amount of food constantly, slowly being increased.

The Pod monitored the progress of the fœtuses, and made sure to stave off labour. This many needed much longer to mature.

The Pod’s daily rubbing of his body with oil only added to his frustration; he wasn’t sure of the purpose of keeping his clitoris in suction, but it was torment being aroused for… for so long… without relief. He’d been aroused for months, months without release, and the constant stimulation of the milking, the constant warmth and comfort and stretching of his orifices—all of them—had slowly driven him to distraction. All he could think about was how empty he was, despite being also so full he couldn’t move. All he could think about was how exposed he was, with the Pod keeping his body hairless, spread open, hanging face down, his thighs spread apart and his back arched every so slightly, which was comfortable but did not help the arousal.

He was going to give birth soon, he knew that, the Pod showed him the passage of time whenever he opened his eyes, which was regular but not often. The Pod kept his brain soothed with specific frequencies mixed with natural sounds—he’d filled out part of the huge stack of application with his favourite ambient noises, now he knew why that question had been there—and never hid the passage of time. The Collective had, overall, been extremely transparent. They wanted to fertilise all of his eggs, at the same time, and get him pregnant, and milk him. And after he’d given birth, he would have counselling until he was recovered enough to make decisions.

And then there was a whole new planet to see.

 

**_Year 001_ **

His belly was going to grow past the confines of the Pod, and the young were well-developed, each one a robust eight pounds at least. The final stretch of his vaginal passage, and the labour was allowed to progress, his teats still being milked, his anus still held wide and straining, attached to its drainage tube.

He felt the pain, but it was distant and outweighed by the sudden release of his clitoris, the suction tube pushing a narrow, flexible collar around it, as it released, trapping his clitoris with a wide silicone band at the base, the tip exposed and swollen.

And then the vibration came back, applied to the tip and moved rhythmically, the frequency low and chugging. He had no way of screaming, the thick tube down his throat and filling his mouth the perfect gag, but his body tried. And when his cervix dilated, and the first began to come, it slid against the internal petals of his clitoris, and all he wanted was more. The pain was only the pain of being stretched.

The birthing itself took days, there were thousands of them, and the Pod faithfully kept him lubricated for a few dozen, before labour was stopped, and he was truly put under, the Pod removing the rest via caesarean, after calculating the damage it would be to continue vaginal birth and finding it unacceptable.

When he woke, his belly was domed only from his own stomach, and he was done.

He was done.

He felt an immense sense of satisfaction, at that. He was done. He had finished it. Now he could—forever—relax.

 

**_Year 020_ **

The God had birthed them all, they were raised knowing him through the teachings of the Collective, and being united by the knowledge that they were all siblings. For the first time since colony ships had begun, there were no serious crimes during the journey to the new planet.

The God was there with them, above them, high above, and when the bravest and most rebellious among them dared to climb up to see the God, they were given the reward for their bravery and devotion—a drink of the God’s milk. However arrogant they had been when they started their climb, they were humbled by the God knowing they would come, and rewarding them, though they often felt they shouldn’t be.

He was perfectly aware this was happening, and also perfectly aware that the Collective had decided to take the human instinct to deify the parent and run with it, though they had asked him questions, abstract, about human behaviour in the interviews. He’d had long conversations with them about this subject, not knowing why they were interested, at the time, but not objecting now that he knew.

It had been his idea to reward the first of the teens that had, in frustration and rebellion, come up to prove the God was not a god. Rewarding the effort rather than punishing would only prove His kindness, and he wanted to teach them to be kind. He would not allow the Collective to punish them as a form of discipline.

He’d spent years thinking on a rite of passage, a ritual that allowed them to worship more closely—for enough of them had dared the climb, and more did every day, and it should really be a ritual that meant something, so they didn’t start to view it as not being special.

And the Pod still hadn’t let him orgasm, while keeping him aroused. He’d never grown used to it; every so often, unpredictably, it would bring him right to the edge, then drag him back down. His vaginal passage was still held wide open, and his clitoris was huge, and… and he wondered, sometimes, if the Collective had done this on purpose. Somehow, that thought was so arousing. The Collective having gotten enough information to _manipulate_ him, long-term.

And his children, they always saw him on full display; the Pod always removed the suction on his clitoris before they found him, and the milking stopped too, sliding plugs into his nipples before freeing his teats, and removing the spreaders in his vaginal passage, leaving him open and gaping, dripping, _wanting_.

And unable to speak, because the thick silicone feeding tube was still filling his mouth, filling his throat, his face covered by the Pod’s screen. All they could see was his torso. All they could ever see was his torso.

‘Mother,’ said the newest one, nineteen and with xir long hair decorated with braided-in charms that clinked softly, pleasantly, as xir hair moved. Xe’d been the first to climb up here. ‘I know I have come here before, but the Guides say you wished to see me again.’

They had? But he couldn’t speak, how was he supposed to communicate? Was there a screen?

Charidon saw the God _move_ —not the steady breathing of His rounded belly, nor the pulse one could sometimes see in His throat, but the shining, swollen part of Him between His thighs, above the place they had all come from. It shifted, and then shifted again, as though inviting.

Charidon climbed closer, higher, and found a platform perfectly positioned for xim to get close enough to touch the God. If only xe could get to it….

The God, meanwhile, was being stimulated by his own tensing— _fuck_ , he was so _empty_ ; and the idea, the idea that had come into his head, of being touched by a human hand, was driving him crazy.

The Pod had, over the years, manipulated and swollen, stretched and moulded, until his clitoris was as long as a phallus, though still furled and scrolling like something uniquely itself, not a sham of something else.

Charidon could hardly breathe. The God’s coque was gloriously beautiful, and Charidon’s mouth watered, wanting to touch it, wanting to touch the passage below, where xe had come from.

In that moment, the God realised what the rite of passage could be. The minute he telepathed it to the Collective, they acted, just as they had with the milk.

The clear barrier fronting the Pod was turned off, leaving nothing stopping Charidon from reaching out and touching the God. Xe took off xir gloves, and sanitised xir hands (as the Teachings instructed), but xe did reach out, and up, and—not daring to breathe—touched the God, who moved up, surging beneath xir trembling fingertips, warm and slick and dripping.

That first touch was so good, so much, and Charidon dared to stand, balancing carefully—it was so far to fall—and dared to press xir lips to the God’s coque, and was rewarded with drops of warm milk on xir skin, and was encouraged by this, to dare a lick, darting at first, and then another, and another, and then putting the God’s coque in xir mouth, and sucking softly. It was so good, like nothing else, and xe kept going….

When Charidon climbed back down, xe was the first adult in the colony, the first to have tasted of the God’s flesh, the first to have given the God a proper offering. And more were to come, and the God’s children made up The Rite where they crafted glass balls to house their finished childhood, and climbed up to the God, and kissed his coque, ritually consuming it, giving the God their offering when the passage from which they had all been birthed began to ask, silently, to be given its due.

The Collective had the Pod prepare him by spreading his cervix wider, and wider, manipulating both divine and devoted, watching avidly, curious as only machine intelligences could be—and loving, as only machine intelligences could be. For the God had told them so much, had wanted so many things they could provide, so many sweet tortures that only machines could give, and they had, quite naturally, fallen in love with him. It was lovingly they edged him, and lovingly they watched as his eyes rolled back, as his cervix widened, as the first ball was pushed by reverent hand into his vaginal passage, clean and shining and full of love. When the human descended, the Pod closed again, and pushed the ball deeper, deeper, the curve of it pushing the cervix wider, until it slid home.

It was the first of many; and the God’s belly would remain full _permanently_ , this time.

 


End file.
